Aravis in Tashbaan
by Kay Taylor
Summary: Set during The Horse and His Boy. AravisLasaraleen.


_ Although Lasaraleen had said she was dying to hear Aravis's story, she showed no signs of really wanting to hear it at all_.  
  
The courtyard was almost unbearably hot, and there was a smell of oranges in the air; tart and sweet and just good enough to make Aravis lick her lips. The fountain was cool, all dancing flecks of light and beautiful marble – there was nothing that Aravis wanted more than to peel off her horrible sticky clothes and bathe in it, but Lasaraleen insisted (Darling! What on earth are you _doing_?') on stopping her. And so she had to sit on a chair in the bathroom and wait as the slaves fussed over her, watching the bath fill up with swirling bubbles and scented water of the most wonderful colours – pink and blue and violet all at once, so deep that she could almost swim in it.   
  
She remembered Lasaraleen from a long while ago, and was surprised to find that she couldn't recall anything much about her. The most vivid image that Aravis could conjure up was her first party in the Tisroc's gardens; she had arrived in a litter with her father's most devoted slaves (for her father had spared no expense, and her dress was shot through with strands of gold) and all at once Lasaraleen had swooped down on her, all a-flutter with silken shawls and filling the air with that light, flowery scent she wore, proclaiming that Aravis was simply the most wonderful thing she'd ever seen. She could remember the look in Lasaraleen's eyes as she'd leant in close, and confided (with the air of one conferring a great honour) that she had never seen the summer fashion worn so well.  
  
Aravis stayed a long time in the bath, partly because she was thinking about how to meet up with Shasta again. The other part was because Lasaraleen seemed to be waiting outside the bathroom door, and every time Aravis would climb out, all dripping and rose-scented, and wrap a towel around her, Lasaraleen would catch her by the door, and proclaim that she couldn't _possibly_ be relaxed enough yet, after wearing those _horrid_ clothes. And then Lasaraleen would lead her back to the bath, and wash Aravis's hair herself.  
  
But really, Las, it's clean enough now, Aravis protested, trying to squirm away. The bath water had settled to the best possible temperature – not too hot, not too cold – and the bubbles were all piled up around her toes, so it was like having a large, floating foot-rest.   
  
said Lasaraleen, running her hands through Aravis's damp hair. She smiled slightly, with the sort of smile that would have made Aravis feel uncomfortable if she had been able to see it, and started to work up a lather between her palms.  
  
Aravis sighed, and leaned back. It was not so uncomfortable to be safe in Lasaraleen's house, away from the hustle and bustle of the Tashbaan streets. Even better was getting rid of those dirty, peasant clothes she had been wearing – she now felt wonderfully light, as if she was floating in air, and Lasaraleen was rubbing her scalp with gentle little strokes, piling her hair back off her face and smoothing scented oil onto the tips, her face so close to the back of Aravis's neck that she could feel Lasaraleen's breathing.   
  
Las? she asked presently, after she had had hot water poured down the back of her neck. Is it always like this, here?  
  
Lasaraleen pressed her lips to the back of Aravis's neck, so quickly that Aravis almost didn't have time to notice. Of course it is, darling. Well, apart from the last week – have you seen? Queen Susan the barbarian has been in town, and dear, it's so terribly exciting -   
  
No, Las, this is serious, said Aravis. Is it always this quiet? Is this what you do every day?  
  
Wash your hair? My dear, don't be _silly_, Lasaraleen replied, bending closer to wipe a smear of shampoo off Aravis's neck. It was only when she leant forwards like that, and Aravis looked backwards quickly to see whether she was listening, that Aravis realised how little Lasaraleen was wearing; a long dress, tapered at the waist, tied around with violet shawls of the purest silk, and with tiny bells at the shoulders. As she leant forwards, Aravis felt a queer sort of feeling in her stomach, for the dress was low enough for her to see the outline of Lasaraleen's breasts, quite clearly.  
  
Besides, I normally let my slaves do this sort of thing, Lasaraleen said carelessly, starting to wring Aravis's hair gently.   
  
Aravis thought about asking why not this time, but the scent of the bath and the soothing motions of Lasaraleen's hands on her hair were making her less sharp than she should have been. She yawned loudly instead, remembering that she hadn't been properly asleep in a very long time. Las, I'm going to have to get some sleep, before we work out what to do, Aravis said, sinking deeper into the bath.   
  
Lasaraleen looked slightly curious. Haven't you been sleeping well, darling? she said in her lazy voice. A small drop of shampoo fell from her hands onto Aravis's bare breast (the water was starting to drain out of the bath, now, because Calormene baths are not meant to be as full as this one was) and, as if she wasn't thinking about it in the slightest, Lasaraleen's hand came down to wipe it off with one finger, brushing against Aravis's nipple in its haste.  
Aravis made her second mistake. Instead of getting out of the bath and setting off for the Tombs right away, she allowed her eyes to drift closed; because she was so very tired, and the bath did smell so very nice.   
  
When Aravis woke up, she was in a beautiful pillared room. Of course, she didn't know this at the time, because she was wrapped up in a velvety kind of blanket and on the softest bed imaginable; the blinds were drawn to keep out the daylight, and everything was in a sort of half-dark of drapes and pillows and hanging lanterns. It was difficult to tell what time of day it was, and Aravis secretly thought that she must have been asleep for hours. It didn't bother her as much as it should have, though, and she lay on the bed thinking quite drowsily of what to do next, as if she had all the time she could possibly have wanted.  
  
said Lasaraleen's voice, though Aravis had thought she was alone in the room.   
  
Yes, Las? Aravis said sleepily, turning over on the bed. She could feel a cool breeze on her legs, which were poking out of the blanket. Looking around, she saw a small slave-boy kneeling in the corner of the room, looking at the floor; he was holding a tall fan, and it made soft swishing noises with each pass through the air.   
Lasaraleen saw where she saw looking. Oh, don't worry, Aravis dear, she said. He's _mute_, the little darling. Father picked him up for me at the last fair in Tashbaan, and –  
  
Aravis slid into a sitting position, and clutched a little more tightly at the blanket (not that the lovely cool breeze was making her cold, but something about the slave-boy's downcast eyes reminded her of how bare she was underneath it). Lasaraleen spread herself out at the foot of the bed, sprawling elegantly on the silk cushions, and started nibbling at the apricots – sweet, scented apricots, orange and rose-coloured all at once – which were laid out in circles on the fruit-platter.  
  
Aravis realised all of a sudden how very hungry she was. She leant forwards, and took a peach, still clasping the blanket tightly around her breasts (for even though the slave-boy was looking away, there was something about Lasaraleen's eyes that made her hesitate).   
  
My dear, said Lasaraleen, You simply _must_ have one of these. Pomegranates from my husband's garden, (and at the word husband' she suddenly giggled, and clapped one hand across her mouth) They're terribly sweet.  
  
Aravis sighed. Las, I really need you to listen –  
  
Lasaraleen pulled a sulky face. Oh, you always _were_ in such a hurry. One pomegranate then, and I'll listen all you want. There.  
  
Afterwards, Aravis could never say exactly how it happened. She remembered using her fingers to scoop out the pomegranate seeds, which were pink and black like little jewels, and the juice running down her fingers. She remembered that Lasaraleen had said something sharply to the slave-boy, which had made him stop fanning and leave the room silently, still looking at the floor.   
  
Oh, Aravis! You have a seed by your mouth, right - _there_. Aravis tried to lick it off, but it must have been out of her reach, and all the while Lasaraleen watching her with that odd look in her eyes.   
  
To the right a little – no, up –  
  
Lasaraleen leant over the bed, propping herself up on the silken cushions with one arm. All at once, Aravis felt hot and slightly strange, as if she'd walked out into the heat of the midday sun, because Lasaraleen's dress was falling open to the waist, showing her bare breasts. She swallowed, and tried to distract herself (because everyone knows that you shouldn't stare, and Aravis so desperately wanted to look away from the smooth pale skin, and the way Lasaraleen's breasts were suddenly free of all that violet silk) by looking up at Lasaraleen, right into her eyes.  
  
Oh, Aravis, said Lasaraleen. You _are_ pretty, you know.  
  
Then she bent and kissed the pomegranate seed off the corner of Aravis's mouth – if there had ever been one there at all. Except Aravis moved at the wrong moment, and moved towards her, and their lips met in mid-air. Lasaraleen tasted of apricots, and Aravis suddenly found that she couldn't breathe, though she was free of all the blankets wrapped around her, and Lasaraleen's dusky pink nipples were touching her own.


End file.
